


Distractions

by hystericalwomannovelist



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Caprica AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalwomannovelist/pseuds/hystericalwomannovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just sex, Commander; not the end of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

Laura was tired, bone-weary, done. She had fought to keep her position after Adar tried to force her out and won, but by now she wondered what the point of it was. She had no fight left in her, not in this climate. Another round of meaningless policy talks, disingenuous negotiations, deals made only to be broken the next day. This hearing was like any other. She had not known the topic until Billy slipped her the folder that morning, along with a cup of strong, black coffee. It made no difference. She could do this in her sleep, and even if she couldn't, it would all come to the same end: right where they had started.

Stealing a glance down the long conference table, she allowed her mind to wander as her eyes fell on the one person in the room she could believe had blood running through his veins. The placard identifying him: Cdr. William Adama. Military Advisor.

She did not wonder particularly what he was doing here, and why he had made no attempt to contact her in the three weeks since she'd seen him last. She did not wonder what he had been doing since the decommissioning, since they had wandered back to his quarters through the empty, echoing corridors, both a little drunk—the last time for him and the first for her—and they had frakked there in his small rack and he confessed he wanted it from the moment he met her. She did not wonder why she hadn't admitted she had, too, only laughed and pulled him down against her again. 

He had a way of turning so serious. _It's just sex, Commander; not the end of the world._

She did not know him well, but she knew enough—from that night, from watching him now—to judge they had that much in common. The weariness. The going through the motions. The loss of purpose, passion. Perhaps that was why it had been so good between them. Once they had dropped the pretensions of their offices, they had seen that in each other, a kind of kinship. It was a mutual relief from the boredom, that was all. That might be all they had in common, but for a few hours, a night, it was plenty. 

She did not wonder why he was there; she was only pleased that he was. A welcome relief from the boredom. 

_That was all. That was all._

Still, she was drawn to him in a way she could not explain. Not like Richard _(done, she was done)_ , not like any of the others—Sean floated to mind, as he always did when she thought of the inanity of sex and desire. It was not a caution but an emblem. There had not been many in the last several years of her life; those there had been were united in their pointlessness and their disposability. Some she could run through in a night, others over the course of long, messy months. She looked at Bill Adama and some part of her knew that was most definitely not all. She was not sure she could ever get enough of that man.

_(If it's not just sex, then...)_

She watched him and wanted him, focused her mind on that part of her attraction she could easily understand and control. She wanted to frak him, and she wanted it more than anyone she had met in a long time—simple as that. It could just be that. Take him somewhere and make it that. Somewhere ridiculous, inappropriate, it wouldn't matter, this would end when she wanted it to. And she would want it to; this was no different. _That was all._

She fantasized about having him, now, here, somewhere they could sneak off to, relieve the boredom. Her office was not far, but her staff would be milling about, and the phone, the godsdamned phone that never stopped. She had no particular interest in being frakked in a bathroom stall. Any empty conference room could be walked in on. Where? _She was actually thinking about it._

“Madam Secretary?”

She looked up sharply, her eyes hardened to cover her surprise, a practiced expression. She would not appear startled, but interrupted. “Yes?”

Frak these assholes, all eyes turned to her. Bill at the far end of the table, a ghost of a smile on his lips. _Frak him, too—_ She suppressed the twitching of her own lips, the word taking on an entirely different meaning for him.

“I believe your presentation is next on the agenda.”

Laura cleared her throat. On some level it disturbed her to catch herself fantasizing about a man in the middle of a meeting; she was better at compartmentalizing than that. Again she was aware of that strange, irresistible draw that man had on her. But no, it was not that, her eyes scanning the room again, a businesslike smile now plastered on her face replacing the genuine one that had threatened. Gods, she was tired of every face in this room, bored to tears by them – it was boredom, nothing else, that could have made her mind wander.

At the other end of the table was the only face she was interested in seeing. 

* * *

Bill watched her as she spoke, mesmerized, not hearing a single word. He wanted to hear what she had to say, wanted to know everything about her, but these were empty, rote words, he knew her well enough to judge that. There was no passion, no interest even, in her voice as she rattled off statistics and policy recommendations. He would learn much more about her just now from the way she stared them down, the easy way she had of dismissing them with a raised eyebrow and a twisted smirk, the hand just barely raised to silence an interruption. 

She was good. He admired her. He was here to offer a military perspective but he didn't care enough to fight her if he had occasion to. His Galactica was gone. He was done. Nothing else really mattered to him. He was knocking about, wasting time; he wasn't about to make a second career out of this. For the moment, he simply did not know what else to do. He knew full well why he took this assignment. It was a small thing, perhaps, but it was the only thing he really looked forward to: seeing her. 

She was arguing with one of those nameless, faceless cabinet members now, cutting him to pieces, tossing her hair and looking at him imperiously over the top of her glasses. Bill licked his lips. It turned him on. On second thought, he should try to pay attention, find some reason to pick a fight with her. It would be a rush to be on the receiving end of that glare, to say something to set her back on her heels, to argue with icy voices and narrowed eyes, to eventually be put firmly in his place by her, then dismissed by her. 

Bill ran his hand roughly down his face. _What the frak was he thinking._

If anything he found himself paying less and less attention to what she said, the attempt to focus only bringing him to stare at her lips, the way they formed senseless words, the occasional dart of her tongue, the flash of her teeth clamped on her lower lip when she paused, the wicked upturn of a smile when she scored a point. All of this he mentally translated to those lips moving over his body, doing the same things to him.

_He was actually getting hard just watching her._

Shamelessly he took all the pleasure he could in watching her, being near her. Perhaps he was at such a low ebb that that was enough for him. Perhaps she was such a magnificent woman that that was enough for him. He tried not to question. His face was impassive but he watched her with rapt attention, taking in the set of her jaw now, the elegant lines of her neck, the curve of her breasts underneath her finely tailored, conservative attire. He remembered the feeling of those breasts in his hands and closed his eyes softly, only for a moment, the weight and softness as present to him as anything in this room.

If this was all he could have, it would be enough. He knew that already. He relaxed into the thought of simply and quietly worshiping this woman. He could do that, if she wanted nothing more from him. If she did want something, anything, he would give it to her. He frowned, remembering. There was no reason to suppose she wanted anything more from him. He had been too fast the first time. It had been too long since he'd been with anyone, and being with her was too intensely erotic. It couldn't have been good for her. At least he'd had the good sense to go down on her first. He would like to think but he could not promise it would be better the second time; he was so turned on now she could probably make him come with two rough jerks of her fist.

“Commander?”

He grunted and tore his eyes away from her, looking down the table in the general direction of the man who had addressed him. 

The chairman cleared his throat. “Do you have anything to add, Commander?”

“No. Not at this time.” 

Across the table his eyes locked on Laura's. They were dancing with laughter, that much was obvious. What exactly it meant, he was not sure.

* * *

The session broke for lunch. Laura had every intention of grabbing a plate of food and heading straight for Bill, cornering him and teasing him mercilessly. Maybe it would calm her nerves just to reassert some power over him, see that he still wanted her. But before she had a chance, she saw two of those empty suits pull him aside. Before she could decide whether she wanted to jump in and save him or enjoy watching him suffer, another took her down.

“Interesting presentation, Laura.”

Her lips pursed in a dubious smile, nodding slightly. “You asked some _interesting_ questions, Joe.”

He droned on and on, praising her ideas in theory, feigning regret about budget limitations that would kill them. She nodded and responded as automatically as she had before, as if this were as rehearsed as her presentation, and it was, it was the same conversation she had been having ever since she'd joined the administration and she was _so frakking tired._

She looked over his shoulder at Bill, who was making no effort now to keep up appearances, rubbing his eyes and sighing heavily. Suddenly she didn't want to play games with him anymore. He was her only comrade in this; they ought to be conspirators. She tried to catch his eye, but he was too annoyed to even look up from his plate.

“Laura?”

“Mmm?” 

“Don't you think so?”

“Sure, Joe.”

Why had he taken this job, anyhow? It couldn't be good money. He wasn't enjoying it and couldn't have thought he would have. He didn't appear to be interested in contributing to the debate. If he'd asked her, she would have recommended against it. But he hadn't asked her. He probably hadn't expected to run into her, much less find himself assigned to the same committee. _Could he...?_

He looked up finally, looked straight at her. It wasn't her imagination: the life returned to his eyes the moment they landed on her.

_It didn't have to be a fantasy._

“You know what Joe, I'm not really as hungry as I thought. I have a quick errand to run before the session starts up again.” She began to move toward the trash bin, dumping her barely touched plate of food.

“All right – you'll think about what I said?”

“Of course I will.” 

She knew Bill's eyes were on her the whole time, but she didn't look up again until Joe had moved on to someone else. Slowly she drew her eyes back to his. No games now. He would not mistake her meaning. She inclined her head slightly to the door, turned, and walked out.

* * *

Bill did not understand everything that woman did, never knew what attitude she would take up when he encountered her. In a few brief meetings he had seen her businesslike, playful, downright cold, unabashedly seductive. The glances she had shot him earlier across the conference table were unreadable. This one was not.

The excuses he made were less than half-hearted. He shouldered past the two men, hot on her heels. Lucky thing she was subtle about it; he couldn't have been now if he tried.

He looked left and right down the hallway, saw her disappear around a corner, head high, not looking back. He quickened his pace to catch up with her, turned the same corner and found the corridor empty but for her, betraying no sign that she was up to anything at all except for the exaggerated swing of her hips. _For his benefit._ He jogged to catch up with her, fell into step at her side. His fingertips reached out instinctively but just hovered at the small of her back.

“Madam Secretary,” he said in greeting, his voice low and rumbling.

“Commander,” she returned, the sideways smile undercutting her curt nod in his direction. “Welcome to my world.”

“Funny meeting you here.”

“Might've been easier just to call.”

“You? I wouldn't be so sure.”

She stopped in a doorway, her back against it, hand on the knob. She looked at him evenly, her eyes searching for something. He opened himself to her completely, but wasn't sure she'd understand what she found. 

“Why are you here, Bill?” Her voice, barely above a whisper, beckoned him closer.

“The same reason you are, I hope.”

“Not right here, right this minute. I mean why did you take this job?”

“Same reason.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She hesitated for only a moment.

“We have twenty minutes.” 

She twisted the knob, stepped inside, held the door open for him. He followed without hesitation. She slammed the door behind them and backed him against it. He had just enough time to register that she'd led them to a small supply closet before her lips were on his, and everything in his field of vision was Laura Roslin.

* * *

“I want you, Bill,” she whispered between furious, hard kisses. “Now.”

He let out a low groan as he pulled her closer to him, responding to her, no part of his brain willing to pause or protest.

“Wasn't sure you'd wanna do this again.”

She laughed into his mouth, then pulled away, drawing his face down to her neck. “What made you think that?”

“I was too fast,” he murmured into her skin, kissing a path from her ear to the hollow of her throat.

She pressed his shoulders hard against the door, pinning him, looking him dead in the eye again. He grinned back at her—he liked it when she took control. Little did he know how that goofy lovesick smile of his made her weak in the knees.

She was in no mood to stroke his male ego, but he might as well know it. She pressed her forehead against his. “You made me come twice, Bill.”

He groaned again as she rocked her pelvis hard against his, the contact good but not all they wanted through the thick wool of his trousers, her skirt stretched across her legs.

“I wanna take my time with you, Laura...“

She pulled away, impatient, tugging at his uniform front to urge him away from the door. “Tell you what,” she said as she switched places with him, leaning her head against his stomach as she bent over, pulling her panties down and stepping out of them, kicking them across the floor. “Frak me fast now, come over to my place later and take all the time you want.”

He pinned her against the door now, an involuntary response unlike her deliberate maneuver, a delighted sound halfway between laugh and growl passing from her mouth to his as their lips rejoined. His hips bucked against hers so she could feel him, she might as well know it now, how quickly and thoroughly she turned him on. He pulled back just enough to give her room to work at his belt and the fastenings of his trousers, which she did greedily as his hands roamed over her body, taking in as much as he could through the layers of clothing, wanting her naked and sprawled out before him in a proper bed.

_It would be good but not enough._

She pulled down his trousers and boxers together with one hard, sure tug, wrapping one leg around his thigh and drawing him closer again.

“You ready?” he mumbled against her cheek.

“Gods, yes,” she sighed.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he hoisted her up, her legs wrapped tightly around him, his body fixing her in place against the door as he peeled her skirt back, running the palms of his hands over her thighs and hips, entranced by the sight of her, the feel of her soft skin. She wiggled closer to him impatiently—why he was insecure about how quickly it was over the last time she had no idea. If anything he had a maddening way of going too slow when she wanted it fast, hard, rough.

“Bill, come on.” She reached between them and grasped his cock, pulling him into position.

“You _are_ ready,” he laughed, holding himself back.

“Shut up and frak me already,” she growled, but she was laughing too.

With one hard thrust he was inside her, pushing, holding himself there, enveloped in her warmth. She wrapped her arms around his neck again, pulling herself closer, nuzzled his ear, buried her face in his hair. He caressed her back slowly, stealing this moment of tenderness as long as she would permit it. Each could feel the other twitching with building need.

_It was good. It would never be enough._

She slid off her heels, sending them clattering to the floor. With the soles of her feet planted against his legs for leverage, she pulled herself up and began rocking against him, shifting to find the right angle, pressing herself down against him. He tried to accommodate, interpreting her responses, his hands on her ass, supporting her and pulling and pushing her along his cock.

“Oh gods,” she moaned.

“There?”

“Right there.”

He continued to hold her in place, _there_ , letting her do most of the work, at irregular intervals pulling her hard against him, quickening or slowing the pace. He let her take what she needed until he was sure she was close. It was torture to hold back when he was fairly sure he could come just listening to the absentminded pleasured noises she was making directly into his ear.

She moaned his name again and he knew what she wanted, needed, begged for without having to say the words. He was not sure he had brought her to that point the last time but he knew it now and it brought him a strange sense of pride, knowing he could take her to the same level of desperation she drove him to, knowing it was good for her, it was _his_ doing. 

He let himself go then, plunging into her, a steady rhythm at first, quickly losing all control and sync and sense. She threw her head back, not caring as it slammed against the door, and he lowered his head to bury his face in what little skin was exposed, freeing one hand to squeeze her breast through the layers of fabric, thumb working to stimulate her hardened nipple.

_It was good, it was everything, more, more..._

She didn't know whether she had thought the words or screamed them out loud and there was no time to wonder because a moment later she was coming, hard, losing her grip on him as she gave herself over completely to that pulsing, crashing wave of release and he struggled to catch her, barely in control of his own body and moving by pure clumsy instinct now, scooping her up and pinning her against the door again with the weight of his body, two more hard thrusts and he followed her, her name on his lips as he came.

When the last fading throbs of orgasm stilled, she slid off him, not steady on her feet yet, not breathing normally yet, kissing him slowly until sanity began to return. He smoothed her skirt back down her legs, tracing her curves lightly back up her body. Her hands came to rest against his chest, fingertips kneading and stroking absently, more naked and vulnerable to him now than she had been when he was frakking her senseless. 

Much more. She did not mind it. It was good.

She pulled away finally, flashing him a smile that was somehow uncertain and smug all at once, and utterly disarming. He watched her carefully as she turned her back on him, retrieving her panties, her shoes, straightening out her skirt and blouse. He pulled his trousers up again and righted himself, less sure than ever where they stood, the more intimate they became. She had not said a word, had done nothing to physically repel him, but something in her always seemed distant afterward, and he did not know how to pull her back. 

“I guess the second half of the conference will be easier to take, now,” he threw out, trying to sound casual, if that was what she needed.

She laughed, a throaty, satisfied laugh. “Maybe, but somehow I think I'll be paying even less attention.”

“You really hate it, don't you? This job?” He frowned. Too personal. Couldn't help himself.

She gave him a long look, wary, but nodded finally. “Yeah. Anymore, I do. I don't think there's any good I can do.”

He struggled to find anything to say, but everything that came to mind seemed way over the line. _Quit, then. Do something else. I have no idea what the frak I want anymore either. Come away with me, we'll figure it out together._ “I know the feeling,” he settled on.

“Hm,” was all she offered in return. She studied him closely, too. The way he looked at her unnerved her, but it made her feel alive. As much as the sex did; more than, if she was honest. She expected frakking him in a supply closet to make this feel cheap, small, easier to manage, like all the rest. She expected to leave feeling in control—of this, of herself, of him. But she felt less in control than ever. That was the quick, hard frak she needed it to be, but now, after, when he was looking her that way, she felt... different. He was different. This was different.

She became aware that she was holding her breath. Consciously, she let it go.

_Do it before you find a reason not to._

She turned her back on him again, fumbling around the shelves for a scrap of paper and a pen. She scribbled something, walked back toward him, her hips moving in that way she knew he watched and loved. She slipped the piece of paper in his pocket, her hand lingering there, grinning mischievously at him.

“What's that?” he grinned back.

“My address. If you do want to come over later...”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

She leaned in again and kissed him, a sweet, chaste kiss, lips just placed against his, a small exchange of pressure, the feeling of him smiling into it causing the corners of her own mouth to turn, almost against her will. 

“I'll go, then you go in a few moments, all right?” she said silkily, her hand on the doorknob, another quick peck on the cheek for him. 

“That's generally how I like to do things,” he returned, a wicked look in his eye.

She shook her head, rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress the grin that spread across her face. She turned and opened the door before he had a chance to get too cocky about it—at least before she had to see it.

She did not know her will when it came to Bill Adama. She was beginning to see that. This had not diminished or sated her desire at all, only expanded her feelings, increased her need.

If she could not trust her will, she might have to try trusting her gut. Or her heart. Or him.

She knew he was right behind her.


End file.
